Old Keya licked his dry lips, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the sweat from his brow. For most of his life, he had possessed a vague, nagging feeling that his decades spent in this building had been utterly wasted.
Now, he was certain of it.
It was simply baffling. Only a few months after being rehired out of retirement, any single piece of the "excitement" he had witnessed was enough to blow his entire past life out of the water. He really had lived all those years in vain.
Just as he was drying his hands, a voice whispered right beside his ear:
"So, what are you still waiting for?"
Old Keya’s eyes went wide. Standing right before him was none other than Neo.
"You... Aren't you... Shouldn't you be..."
"Grab the shackles, lock them in detention, and wait for the formal indictment to be approved. Only then is this affair truly over."
"B-but..."
"'But' what? Still can't tell who's won? The market's closing and someone leaves a backdoor open for you, yet you don't even know how to place a bet? If you won't think of yourself, at least think of your grandchildren and grandnieces and nephews. I'm only giving you this nudge for old time's sake. Figure it out yourself."
Neo turned to leave.
Old Keya instinctively called after him, "Where... where are you going?"
Neo waved a hand. With a cigarette held between his fingers, the gesture left faint wisps of smoke trailing behind like passing clouds.
"Back to jail."
Old Keya swallowed hard, then abruptly waved his arm to bark an order: "Everyone got their gear on them? Move! Follow me to slap on the cuffs!"
"Yes, Section Chief!"
"Yes, Section Chief!"
Yet just as Old Keya steeled his resolve and led his men downstairs to take custody of the prisoners, two other squads suddenly popped up ahead.
One was the veteran Hound Squad led by Wend, and the other was the squad under Gendy.
Moving with a speed that nearly threw out his aging back, Old Keya charged forward with his men and managed, after no small struggle, to snag one bishop for themselves.
In the end, over a dozen sets of shackles were lavished exclusively upon that single bishop, bending the poor man double under their sheer weight, bishop or not.
After all, once the first set clicked shut, unless someone actively forced their way out, the flow of spiritual energy in their body was fundamentally locked down. Any additional shackles slapped on afterward were nothing more than dead weight.
The knights did not withdraw. Karen still stood his ground. The vast majority of people present remained rooted where they were, watching in stunned silence as the five bishops were marched back into custody.
"*Sigh.*"
A helpless sigh escaped Dunk. He had been suppressed by Wolflen for years, even forcibly shipped off to Dinge Region under the guise of an "exchange program." After finally fighting his way back, he had thought he could kick that old bastard aside and claim the seat for himself. Who could have imagined that barely halfway onto the chair, it would turn out to be a red-hot iron plate?
*You old fossil. Almost your whole family has been wiped out, and you still can't stand the sight of me?*
Harry took the initiative to walk over to Karen. Stopping before him, he raised a hand and erected an isolation barrier.
"This was all Bernie's idea," Harry began. "I think you understand that after this, your future advancement will be severely choked off. Wolflen's favor can only shield you for a short while, and no matter how fast you climb, you can't leap directly into the Regional Chief's seat."
Karen looked at Harry and asked, "Your point being?"
"So keeping me in this seat might actually be the best thing for your future. At least we're already familiar with each other, aren't we?"
Karen replied, "I trust in the arrangements of Order."
"If I'm removed, it's possible—no, highly likely—that they'll send down a Regional Chief who is far harder to deal with and commands far greater control. I doubt that's what you want to see."
"No, it would still be far better than having to look at you."
"Fair enough." Harry did not seem particularly angry. "Then I'll just watch from somewhere else to see when you come crashing down."
Saying so, he pointedly glanced around at the surrounding knights.
"After pulling a stunt like this, even if they promote you to quiet the waters, how much longer do you think you can stay here?"
"One day at a time, I suppose. I'm tired."
"You have the nerve to say you're tired?" Harry was genuinely incredulous.
Karen nodded, voicing what he truly felt after everything that had unfolded:
"Right now, all I want is to be a proper Whip of Order priest—worrying about nothing, overthinking nothing, and simply doing things by the *Code of Order*. Regional Chief, in the past I met people who kept the *Code of Order* on their lips right up until the moment they died. I admired them, but at the same time, I found them a bit too naive and stubborn..."
Like Inquisitor Pavaro, like Lord Theisen...
"Only now do I realize that they weren't naive. They were the ones who saw the world with the absolute greatest clarity, while the one who was truly muddled, yet thought himself clever and sober, was me."
Harry froze, a pensive look creeping into his eyes. Then, he dispelled the isolation barrier and gave Karen a slight nod.
"I was wrong," Harry said. "And I regret it."
Karen asked, "Are you still trying to make a move?"
"No. I just wanted to tell you."
"Oh. All right."
"You madman."
"I'll accept your compliment on his behalf."
***
"Come on, come on! Don't line up one by one! One person per bishop! Read out the indictments and finish the process already!"
Vic had already finished organizing the case files. Under his direction, each handler was assigned to a bishop, reading out the formal charges inside the interrogation rooms.
Though the earlier upheaval had pushed matters to an absolute extreme, the five bishops had at least maintained a veneer of composure. But the moment the indictments were read aloud, every one of them wore the exact same expression of sheer astonishment.
It was the panic and mortification of having one's deepest secrets laid bare—like someone who considered himself highly respectable suddenly being forced to sprint stark naked down a bustling commercial boulevard.
"Done yet? Hurry, hand all the indictment documents to me!"
Vic bustled about like a busy pig farmer, wanting for nothing except a whip in hand.
Before long, the files were handed to him one after another. Richard was the last to turn his in, smacking his lips with lingering relish.
Vic could not help but tease, "Anyone who didn't know better would think you'd just slept with one of our dear bishops."
Richard shot back, "That kind of pleasure can't even hold a candle to what I just felt."
*Grandfather, do you see this? Your grandson has made something of himself—I just got to read out criminal charges to a bishop's face!*
After indulging in that emotional swell, Richard suddenly felt an odd disconnect, as if the mood and context were slightly misaligned. Then it hit him:
*Oh, right. My grandfather is still alive.*
Carrying the documents, Vic entered the communications hall and transmitted the indictments directly.
With that, the nails were driven firmly into the coffin.
Vic took several steps back, snapping his fingers as he spun slowly in place. He loved this kind of life—the wild tug-of-war between disappointment and exhilarating surprises. The thrill of the process far outweighed any outcome.
"I just wonder what Alfred's admission requirements are."
"What are you talking about?" Alfred asked, pushing the door open as he stepped inside.
"If I remember correctly, the isolation array on this room is active."
"My hearing has improved a bit lately. I happened to catch it."
"Fine. Mr. Alfred, I want to join that inner circle of yours."
"What inner circle? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The one where you get to go out into the field with the Director instead of staying behind sorting files."
"Do you have any idea how important your work is?"
"So important that even Richard could easily handle it?"
"In the service of Order, there is no high or low, only different divisions of labor."
"I just want to know the criteria for joining."
"Heh. As for you..."
A helpless smile appeared on Alfred's face. *Recruiting a disciple of the former High Priest into the Young Master's circle of faith? That would be insane!*
Yet very quickly, that helpless smile shifted into the excitement of someone discovering a brand-new toy. *Why not?*
Two years from now, when Rasma finally stepped out of Mink Street and went looking for his student, only to find that the boy had converted to worshipping the Young Master... what a magnificent scene that would be! High Priest Rasma would probably weep tears of profound emotion.
"We'll talk more in the future and share some perspectives. We take it step by step."
"Is it like a fraternity?"
"You can think of it as a reading group dedicated to interpreting the doctrines of Order."
Vic's face stiffened slightly. "I know there's a fundamentalist faction in the Church. Some of them are... well, you know, a bit extreme."
Alfred smiled back. "Oh, you're overthinking it. How could we ever be that extreme? That's entirely impossible."
***
Alfred returned to Karen's side and reported:
"Young Master, the formal prosecution requests have been submitted."
Karen nodded and raised his authority token. "Withdraw!"
Above, the falcon knights began pulling up into the sky. Below, the mounted knights wheeled their steeds around. Soon, accompanied by the screech of falcons overhead and the thunderous rumble of hooves below, the dark cloud that had hung over the plaza receded like an ebbing tide.
"Alfred, wrap things up here. I should be heading over to report to the cells shortly."
"Understood, Young Master."
Karen walked over to Bernie, who was kneeling on one knee, pressing both hands against his abdomen as he treated his wound.
"Minister, I'll have someone take you to the Church hospital."
"No need." Bernie raised his head to look at Karen. "Thank you."
"You're too polite."
"What do you plan to do next?"
"What comes next is no longer my business."
"Karen, there's one thing I'm truly curious about. What made you so sure that Dunk, Harry, and I wouldn't dare flip the table on you? Were you truly so certain that none of us would risk losing everything?"
"Actually, I wasn't certain at all."
"Then..."
"Probably because I could afford to lose."
***
The standoff outside the Yorktown Whip of Order headquarters had ended, but like a stone tossed into a placid lake, the ripples spread instantly outward.
As news traveled up through the ranks, most people's first reaction was: *This has to be nonsense, right?*
Yet as increasingly detailed reports flooded in, everyone was forced to accept that something so utterly absurd had genuinely occurred.
A massive shockwave promptly tore through the hierarchy from top to bottom.
The most conspicuous response was that the Knight Order stationed in Wien received an emergency alert order, preparing them for deployment at a moment's notice.
This signaled that the upper echelons now regarded Yorktown as an extremely unstable zone, with the nature of the incident verging on outright "rebellion."
In the secular world, after all, an event like this was the equivalent of an armed insurrection spearheaded by local garrisons in an established imperial province.
The Church of Order's most sensitive nerve had been struck, triggering its internal stabilization protocols without delay.
***
"By order of the Knight Order Commander, your garrison detachment is instructed to enforce total lockdown by battalion! Furthermore, your detachment's First Battalion is ordered to immediately—"
The herald knight's proclamation froze halfway in his throat.
Before him, an entire battalion of knights had already stripped off their armor and dismounted from their warhorses. Every one of them sat neatly on the ground, stripped to the waist.
Each man was bound in ropes, yet every face remained utterly calm.
Moreover, right at the front of their ranks sat a man dressed in the exact same manner. Beside him, folded with pristine care, lay a set of crimson bishop robes symbolizing supreme dignity.
Bishop Bern looked up at the herald knight and asked:
"Take a good look. Is there anything we missed? Feel free to offer your feedback."
***
"Well, well, look who's here."
Through the iron bars, Neo watched Karen step inside. Old Keya personally unlocked the cell door for Karen, who stepped into the room.
"Hey, Old Keya, you're certainly bustling about with great enthusiasm today," Neo chuckled.
Old Keya bowed deeply to Neo, then turned with warm attentiveness to Karen, whom he had just locked up. "Director, is there anything you need? Or should I start arranging dinner for you now?"
Karen shook his head. "No special treatment needed."
Neo shouted, "Hey, I'm starving! Bring me some afternoon tea!"
"Right away, Lord Neo. Please wait a moment."
"Hey, come over here." Neo beckoned to Old Keya. Once the old man drew near, Neo asked with a sly grin, "Orders come down from above?"
"Yes, the order was issued to detain Director Karen."
"Then why are you still being so attentive? Shouldn't you be cursing me out right alongside him for dragging you into a trap?"
"When the order came down, neither the Regional Chief nor the Minister had much of a reaction. If they'd looked delighted, I'd have been terrified. But they didn't even seem to have the stomach for it." Old Keya cupped a hand around his mouth, mimicking a conspiratorial whisper. "So I figure it's all just a formality, though I still can't tell how this will actually wrap up."
"Heh, no need for you to worry about that. Some people provide the troops, some command the battle, and naturally, someone will be responsible for sweeping the field afterward."
"Well, fair enough. The world of important lords is far beyond my understanding anyway."
From the opposite cell, Karen said, "Neo, lend me a sheet of paper and a pen."
"Hey, what happened to proper manners around here?"
"Director of the Second Office, please lend me a pen and paper."
"Can't hear you! Just sounds like crows cawing!"
"Captain, lend me a pen and paper."
"Heh, now that's more like it." Neo tossed his pen and paper straight across the corridor. "Are you going to help me brainstorm a book title?"
Karen flattened the paper, picked up the pen, and said:
"Planning a funeral."
***
"This really is quite embarrassing."
"Grandfather, it's what I ought to do."
At that moment, Wolflen sat stripped on a wooden bench while Leon used a towel to wipe down his body.
"Parents and elders bathing a newborn child—that is a kind of happiness."
"Yes, which is why it's only right for me to do this for you. Isn't that so, Grandfather?"
"No. I don't know what other old folks think, but right now, I feel like nothing more than a piece of rotting meat."
"Grandfather, you're joking again. All clean now. Which set of robes would you like to wear?"
"The most formal ceremonial vestments."
"All right, Grandfather, let me help you put them on."
Shortly after, Leon wheeled the freshly bathed Wolflen, now clad in brand-new ceremonial robes, into his office.
The Head Bishop's office naturally included private living quarters, which was where Leon had just finished helping his grandfather wash up.
The old man's hair had been combed back with meticulous care, making him look far more spirited.
"All right, you may leave. I need to make the most of my time and attend to a few matters."
"Yes, Grandfather."
"Leon."
"Is there something else, Grandfather?"
"I love you, my dear grandson. We all love you."
"I love you too, Grandfather."
His grandfather had been repeating similar words often lately, so Leon found nothing odd about it. He opened the office door and stepped out.
Wolflen wheeled himself behind the desk and rested his palm flat against the surface. The array inlaid in the desk activated at once, linking directly to the communications hall in the Church Affairs Building.
"Lord Head Bishop."
The illusory figure of a woman materialized before the desk. She was the Deputy Minister of the Yorktown Regional Communications Department.
"Submit a communication request to connect with the Holy See for me."
"Yes, Lord Head Bishop."
Her figure dispersed.
Very quickly, the response arrived.
"Greetings, my Lord."
Another woman's figure appeared before the desk. Clearly, this was someone from the Holy See's communications division, though not of high enough rank to be a deputy minister—likely a section leader assigned after seeing the high priority level of a transmission originating from Yorktown.
"I am the Head Bishop of Yorktown Region. I request direct communication with the High Priest."
"You did not make an appointment in advance. I apologize, my Lord, but I cannot arrange an unscheduled transmission for you."
"I hereby invoke my supreme communication authority as Regional Head Bishop."
"Understood. Your supreme communication authority permits a direct link to the High Priest's Temple."
"I now demand the activation of the Region's Highest Emergency Response protocol."
"Understood. Highest Emergency Response protocol activated. You are granted authorization to contact the High Priest. Please hold for the High Priest's response."
"Very well."
A moment later, the woman dropped to one knee, and her figure gradually faded away.
In front of the desk, an imposing, majestic figure materialized.
***
At the center of the temple.
Norton gazed at the scene of Wolflen's office appearing within the array before him, his gaze heavy and profound.
***
"Greetings, Lord High Priest."
Sitting in his wheelchair, Wolflen brought both hands to his chest, bowing in pious, reverent salute.
"Wolflen, I have already dispatched Kred."
High Priest Norton's voice was utterly calm, yet beneath that stillness lay a fury that anyone could feel.
Wolflen responded, "I have troubled the Cardinal Bishop. Making him undertake such an arduous journey fills me with deep remorse."
"I have never believed the Church could be free of factional struggle. I know it is inevitable; if it ever ceased to exist, that would be the true anomaly. But this time, Wolflen, you have truly astonished me. You have shocked the entire Church. I never imagined that under my governance, such a thing could take place within our faith."
"Lord High Priest, there was in truth no factional struggle this time."
"None?"
"Yes, none. Because..."
The projection seemed to freeze.
A long silence followed.
A long, long silence...
The High Priest closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
"Wolflen, is this your reply to me?"
For the old man in the projection was dead.
Chapter 604